Turmoil and Triumph: Diplomacy, Power, and the Victory of the American Deal

Summary

Turmoil and Triumph isn’t just a memoir—though it is that, too—it’s a thrilling retrospective on the eight tumultuous years that Schultz worked as secretary of state under President Ronald Reagan. Under Schultz’s strong leadership, America braved a nuclear arms race with the Soviet Union, increasingly damaging waves of terrorism abroad, scandals such as the Iran-Contra crisis, and eventually the end of the decades-long Cold War. With the strong convictions and startling candor for which Schultz is known, this personal account takes readers into the heart of the Reagan administration, revealing the behind-the-scenes talks and churning tensions that informed a transitional decade that many Americans now look back on as one of the country’s most exalted.

Related Articles

Book Preview

Turmoil and Triumph - George P. Shultz

Reviews

1992

Part I

GATHERING THE THREADS

CHAPTER 1

The World in Turmoil

Someone handed me a note: a George Clark from the White House was calling. I did not know any George Clark and pushed the slip of paper aside. It was Friday morning, June 25, 1982. As president of Bechtel, an engineering and construction company with global reach, I was in the midst of an important meeting in London. When my presentation was over, the call came through again. This time the note said Bill Clark was on the line. Judge William P. Clark, Jr., President Reagan’s California friend and now his national security adviser. I had telephoned him a week earlier to express my concerns over the Israeli invasion of Lebanon and the destruction of Beirut, which was now in full fury. I left the room and took the phone. The president wants to talk to you about something of great importance, he said. Can you go to the American embassy, where you can talk on a secure phone?

The rumor that Secretary of State Alexander Haig was about to resign was circulating again, but I had no idea what was behind this request. Soon after I arrived at our embassy on Grosvenor Square, President Reagan’s call came through. Al Haig has resigned, he told me, and I want you to be my secretary of state.

Haig has already resigned? That is a fact? I asked. It has already happened? I did not want to get into the position of saying yes to the president’s request and then having Al Haig told that he was out.

He has resigned, the president responded. It hasn’t been announced, but it has happened. I have accepted his resignation, and I want you to replace him.

As we talked, it dawned on me that President Reagan wanted me to say yes then and there. Mr. President, are you asking me to accept this job now, over the phone?

Well, yes, I am, George, he replied. It would help a lot because it’s not a good idea to leave a post like this vacant. When we announce that Secretary Haig has resigned, we’d like to announce that I have nominated you to be secretary of state. For a brief moment, flashes of California raced through my mind—my life at Bechtel and Stanford was wonderful. I had been out of office for about eight years. I loved what I was doing and the people I was working with. I knew from experience the tensions, the lack of privacy, and the demands on time, energy, intellect, emotion that come with a cabinet post. But I had come to regard public service as something special, more an opportunity and a privilege than an obligation. I supported the president and his ideas. I felt well prepared. Mr. President, I’m on board. So back I would go to the pressures of Washington, this time to what I knew would be the toughest, most demanding, and yet potentially most exhilarating and gratifying of jobs.

Danger and Disarray

Early the next morning, my wife, O’Bie, and I were off on the Concorde headed for Washington. I used the four-hour flight to gather my thoughts and assess the world scene:

The year was 1982, but the 1970s were still with us. The mood at the end of that decade had been captured by Jimmy Carter, unfortunately for him, in an unforgettable way: America was suffering from a bad case of malaise, he said. Americans could no longer be optimistic. At the end of the 1970s the predictions were for rising oil prices, more inflation, and stagnation: the United States would simply have to get used to a lower standard of living. An escalation of cold war tension was taken for granted. Moscow’s military might grew yearly. The nuclear arms race proceeded unharnessed. The Soviet army’s invading forces were grinding through Afghan villages. So much for détente.

Throughout the cold war era, America’s responsibilities as a superpower had been fulfilled with impressive success. But fear of flagging will or failure had become pervasive. The American presidency had become a story of successive agonies: the assassination of John F. Kennedy; the anguished departure of Lyndon Johnson at the nadir of the Vietnam War; Richard Nixon’s de facto impeachment; Gerald Ford’s healing but brief stewardship; and Jimmy Carter’s miseries, which, with a weak smile, he spread across the American and international scene. In June 1980, I had said in a speech to the Business Roundtable, All around us, and plain for all the world to see, is confusion about our aims, deterioration in our world position, and deep concern, perhaps fear, that we are no longer able to establish a tough-minded sense of direction and stick to it.

Now, in mid-1982, we were still besieged by problems and buffeted by events. Ronald Reagan’s program, off to a strong start at home, was struggling abroad. President Reagan had set out to restore America’s strength, optimism, and can do spirit. He was strengthening our defense capabilities, invigorating the morale of our men and women in uniform, and carrying the message of political and economic freedom around the world. But the president’s foreign policy refused to lift off and soar. I felt the United States held the winning hand, but it was proving a difficult hand to play.

Bitterness marked the discord between the United States and our European allies over the proposed construction of a gigantic 3,500-mile pipeline running from Siberia through rugged terrain to carry gas, Soviet gas, into Europe. The American and European economies were in a recession, and the pipeline contract meant good jobs during a time when they were hard to get.

But suddenly, in mid-December of 1981, the Polish government, with clear Soviet support, cracked down on the Polish labor union Solidarity and its courageous leaders. The Reagan administration was determined to register its views forcefully, to use the events in Poland as the basis for action against the Soviets. On December 29, the president ordered all U.S. firms to break any direct contract involving the Siberian pipeline and not to enter into any new ones. Six months later, on June 18, 1982, in the acrimonious aftermath of the Versailles economic summit, President Reagan carried his policy further: any European firm operating on a U.S. license or any American subsidiary operating in Europe must break all pipeline contracts. Our European allies harshly attacked the United States for this retroactive action. We were, they cried, an unreliable supplier, applying extraterritorial reach to American foreign policy that encroached upon their sovereignty.

The Europeans were enraged, as were important segments of the U.S. business community. Yet the upcoming year, 1983, would be critical for nuclear arms negotiations: close U.S.-European coordination would be essential. New Soviet missiles, SS-20s, had been deployed and, since the 1970s, explicitly and directly targeted on Europe. These intermediate-range missiles could not reach the United States. Their purpose was to intimidate West Europeans as part of an ongoing Soviet effort to drive a wedge between the United States and our NATO allies. U.S. missiles, as agreed by all NATO members, were scheduled to be deployed beginning in late 1983 on European soil as a counter to these Soviet deployments. Crucial negotiations would determine whether the arms race would be speeded up or scaled back. The pressing need for coherence and unity in the alliance would be practically impossible to manage, I knew, unless we could dissipate the acrimonious atmosphere with the Europeans created by the pipeline dispute.

U.S.-Soviet relations had gone into the deep freeze when the Soviets invaded Afghanistan just after Christmas of 1979. Now the Soviet-backed crackdown in Poland further deepened the cold. Relations between the two superpowers were not simply bad; they were virtually nonexistent. West German Chancellor Helmut Schmidt said to me in May 1982, The superpowers are not in touch with each other’s reality. The Soviets can’t read you. More human contact is needed.

The Soviet system is incompetent and cannot survive, I had said in a speech at Stanford in 1979. In the struggle with communism freedom is the ideological victor in the world. Now, three years later, in 1982, I had not changed my mind. The Soviets had to be made to realize that they could not succeed with aggression, nor could they win an arms race. But we did not want to spark conflict through fear or miss opportunities to resolve outstanding problems. President Reagan recognized the Soviet Union for what it was: aggressive, repressive, and economically bankrupt, but militarily powerful, with an arsenal of strategic nuclear weapons able to devastate us in thirty minutes. We must recognize that reality, I knew, but we should also be ready to deal with the Soviets more constructively if the opportunity arose. We had to gather support for this approach: from Congress, the press, and the public. Global stability depended on how we dealt with the Soviets. This was an issue I was eager to talk over with the president.

As I looked to Asia, it struck me that the opening to China achieved by President Nixon and Henry Kissinger was closing. An array of minor differences had been blown up to become major items of tension. The immediate dilemma was how to fulfill our responsibility to help Taiwan with its defense while standing behind our agreements with Beijing when U.S.-China relations were reestablished. With our important economic and political interests in Asia, I saw an uneasy state in our relationship with Japan. Trade issues were endless and difficult, and we were pressing Japan, somewhat against their better judgment, to undertake greater defense efforts. As a marine, I had fought the Japanese in World War II, and I was uneasy with encouraging Japan’s renewal as a military power. Elsewhere in the Asia-Pacific region, I knew concern about a rearmed Japan was widespread.

Turning to Africa, the scene all across the southern continent was grim. Apartheid in South Africa was abhorrent and oppressive. Could the United States fashion a policy to slow the expansion of communism beyond Angola and Mozambique, provide a chance for independence in Namibia, and somehow make white South Africans realize that change must come?

In the Muslim world, the rise of Ayatollah Khomeini’s radical fundamentalism had the Arab nations in a panic, and with good reason. Even the Grand Mosque in Mecca had been attacked, in November 1979, by extremists. Iran’s military drive into Iraq was raising the specter of a new and fearsome force across the world of Islam—from Marrakesh to Bangladesh.

In our own part of the world, I could see that President Reagan was giving sharper attention to the Caribbean and Central America as well as Canada and Mexico. U.S. foreign policy started in our own backyard: anything rotten there could infect the United States. So we must pay attention. Another Vietnam: that’s what critics called U.S. support for El Salvador. Democracy in Central America was showing sparks of life, but setbacks there were too often magnified into an imperative for American disengagement. The Soviets observed our domestic discord with relish, expecting that an America divided in rancorous debate over emerging Marxist revolutionary movements to its south would be less inclined to act to contain Moscow’s advances elsewhere in the world.

Then there was Lebanon: there was no point in philosophizing over whether this country was a vital U.S. interest. A war was raging there, and war in the Middle East meant trouble for everybody. Only a few weeks earlier, the Israelis had launched an invasion into southern Lebanon and by now had beaten the Syrians back and had pinned down the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) in the city of Beirut. The trauma in Lebanon reverberated throughout the Middle East. Any notion of a peace process going forward between Arabs and Israelis, with the Israeli army at that moment laying siege to an Arab capital, was impossible. Perhaps even worse, the relationship between Israel and Egypt, given life by the Camp David Accords of 1978, was swiftly deteriorating.

The Arab world had been infuriated by Egyptian president Anwar Sadat’s courageous visit to Jerusalem in 1977. Egypt’s subsequent peace treaty with Israel further heightened tensions. Arab League nations broke off relations with Egypt. Sadat was assassinated. Now, with an Arab-Israeli war raging, Egypt’s leaders were under enormous pressure. Egypt’s large Arab population was deeply aggrieved and was muttering about its own government in Cairo. The negotiations for autonomy called for in Camp David—as a step toward a solution to the Palestinian problem and to the status of the occupied territories on the West Bank and Gaza—were dead. The keystone of peace, the Egyptian-Israeli Peace Treaty, was under the gun. The United States had to act quickly, I knew.

The four-hour flight passed like a flash. Upon arrival, O’Bie and I were met at Dulles Airport by what would now be my security detail and by the president’s top White House advisers: Chief of Staff Jim Baker, Counselor to the President Ed Meese, Assistant to the President Mike Deaver, and National Security adviser Bill Clark. It was noon on Saturday. The president and the first lady had gone to Camp David for the weekend. Someone pointed to a U.S. Marine helicopter, its rotors turning slowly. The president wants you to chopper up to Camp David for a meeting. There’s a car over there to take Mrs. Shultz into Washington, or wherever she wants to go. She can scare up a hotel room for the two of you.

Thanks a lot, I replied, but we come as a package deal. Either we both go to Camp David or we both go scare up a Washington hotel room—take your choice. So off we went together to Camp David.

Early Associations

On the brief helicopter ride, earlier associations with the president flashed through my mind. His telephone call to me in London was not the first time Ronald Reagan had asked me to help. I remembered an invitation from him, when he was governor of California, to come to Sacramento in August 1974, after I resigned as secretary of the treasury in the Nixon administration. He knew I had moved to California and invited me to lunch. We sat together with a few other people and talked for several hours. He grilled me about how the presidency worked. He was interested in nuts and bolts: the process of assembling the budget, dealing with the cabinet and individual cabinet members, ideas for reform of the executive branch, prospects for containing federal spending—on and on. I came away convinced that this man did not simply want to be president: he had an agenda, and he wanted to know how to carry it out.

I remembered having Ronald Reagan to dinner at my house on the Stanford campus in July 1978, when he was a presidential candidate. He was questioned, argued and agreed with, lectured and listened to, by among others Milton and Rose Friedman, Bill Simon, Martin and Annelise Anderson, Ezra Solomon, and Alan Greenspan. Years later he remarked, I noticed you watching me closely that evening, and I wondered what you were thinking. I had been trying to decide whether he had real views or canned statements. I could see his views were real and ran deep.

I could talk to Ronald Reagan candidly, and he would listen. He had strong views, and I respected them. I felt we could work together. So during the presidential campaign I became chairman of his economic policy advisers and, after his inauguration, chairman of the President’s Economic Policy Advisory Board. And in May 1982, just a month before the president telephoned me in London, I had traveled, at his and Secretary of State Haig’s request, to meet each allied head of state in preparation for the Versailles economic summit. The president wanted me to give the allied leaders a reading of his personal views and to find out what was on their minds.

Camp David

When our chopper arrived at Camp David, the president and Nancy Reagan greeted us. The natural, relaxed attitude of the president at Camp David that Saturday contrasted with my encounter in late 1968 with Presidentelect Richard Nixon. Nixon had asked me on the telephone to become his secretary of labor. I said yes, but I also requested a meeting, which soon took place at the Century Plaza Hotel in Los Angeles. I wanted to be sure the president-elect knew my views on labor matters and saw what kind of labor secretary I would be. I would get along with the unions, try to make collective bargaining work, play down high-level and White House intervention in strikes, work on retraining programs for displaced or disadvantaged workers, advocate equal employment opportunity. If he was uncomfortable with these views, well, my appointment hadn’t been announced, and he could go on to someone else. Of course, I wanted to know his ideas on these subjects and what he hoped to accomplish in the White House.

Instead, I was struck to hear an uneasy, defensive statement about why I, as a university man, would feel comfortable in his cabinet. Was he afraid of rejection from a person in the academic community? I had supported him during the campaign. I thought to myself, this man has just been elected president of the United States and yet he is selling himself to me. The complexity of Nixon and his insecurities, as well as his brilliance and his keen instinct for strategy, were in my mind as I talked with Reagan, who was invariably so comfortable with himself.

President Reagan and I had lunch under a canopy of trees outside Aspen Cottage at Camp David. Bill Clark, Jim Baker, and Ed Meese joined us. The shells were falling in Beirut, the press was howling, and pressure on the United States was mounting at the United Nations to take some kind of action against Israel. The president was calm and affable. But he and his aides, I could see, were also gripped with a sense of urgency, frustration, and crisis. The Fourth of July holiday coming up would be no holiday for me. The president wanted me involved right away, but I could not be in the action officially until I was confirmed by the Senate, at the soonest in two to three weeks’ time. Until then I would study the issues and assemble my State Department team.

As President Reagan and I surveyed the world from this relaxed country setting, the challenges I faced were daunting. The president and his White House team talked less about those challenges than about organization and working relationships. I could detect ongoing institutional tensions between the White House and State Department. They assured me of their wholehearted support. I remembered the importance of the easy contact I had developed with President Nixon when I had been in his cabinet. I consider myself to be part of the White House and of your team. I’m working for you, Mr. President. I’ll make use of the talent at the State Department to get our job done. I’ve always been able to work with career people in government, and I know they’ll work hard for us if we give them leadership and involvement. These were welcome sentiments. They all seemed to be looking for calmer seas after their tempestuous time with Al Haig.

Washington insiders were saying that the foreign affairs system in Washington wasn’t working after a year and a half of the Reagan presidency and Haig’s secretaryship. Former National Security adviser Zbigniew Brzezinski had just said in an interview that the United States had a choice in making foreign policy: the president does it all, and he and the NSC (National Security Council) adviser overshadow the secretary of state; or the secretary of state, in close communication with the president, is allowed to go to work. What has surprised me about the last 18 months is that we have had neither the first nor the second system, Brzezinski said. The president has not been actively involved, but the secretary of state has not been permitted to run foreign policy. I hope now, with Mr. Shultz coming on, that the president will decide to let the secretary of state run foreign policy and be recognized as the man in charge.¹

I could not yet judge this organizational issue, but I had signed on with Ronald Reagan because I supported his principles and felt that we agreed on the direction our foreign policy should take. Despite the uneasy state of the U.S. economy and the world economy, I felt that the president was profoundly right to stress that economic progress and development would spring from free and open markets, free enterprise, and an open trading system. The president was also right to stress the importance of our ability to defend ourselves. Whatever the merits and demerits of the scale and composition of the defense buildup President Reagan had launched, our defensive capabilities were improving, and morale in the armed services was rising. From a military standpoint, the United States was back in business. From the standpoint of diplomacy, that renewed capability was important. Power and diplomacy work together. Political pressures in Washington tend to push toward one extreme or the other; operating both at the same time would require great care and skill.

Most important, I was convinced that the West was winning the ideological battle. Communism had failed: as an economic model, it simply didn’t work, as demonstrated in the dramatic contrast between West Germany and East Germany, North Korea and South Korea, and through other comparisons between thriving market-based economies and foundering command-and-control economies. As a political model, communism had failed as well. And on a moral dimension, Communist countries exhibited such gross violations of human rights that any prospect of communism’s further spread was chilling to contemplate. Yet in the military dimension, the Soviet Union had proved itself able to develop awesome power and use it ruthlessly and skillfully.

The crux of the issue, I had said in my speech at Stanford in 1979, was time and will: to hold off the Soviet military threat long enough for America to regain its resolve internationally, to demonstrate how to use freedom and open markets as the organizing principles for economic and political development, and to do so long enough to allow communism’s failures to be fully recognized and to play themselves out. America had much more going for it than was commonly perceived. The question was whether our will and resolve, and that of our allies, were sufficiently strong to contain Soviet aggression and challenge its ideology.

Upon our return from Camp David, O’Bie and I didn’t have to scare up a hotel room after all. We were offered the town house on Jackson Place set aside for former presidents when they visit Washington. On Sunday, we went to see Vice President George Bush, my second call after hitting the ground in Washington. He and Barbara were at home at their official residence on the grounds of the Naval Observatory in northwest Washington and had invited us to lunch. They were gracious in welcoming us to the administration. I stressed that I intended to work closely with the White House and for the president. My way would be supportive and collaborative.

Getting Started at State

I then went to work. Ready and waiting for me was what the security agents who now led me everywhere called the secure package: a Cadillac limousine—heavy and creaky with armor plate—driven by a young agent, with another riding shotgun beside him, and a follow car, a high-chassised Chevy Blazer carrying four agents and a small arsenal. They kept a constant radio chatter going between the two vehicles and with our destination, the Department of State.

Larry Eagleburger, the under secretary of state for political affairs, was waiting for me in my office. A voluminous, white, long-sleeved turtleneck inadequately disguised his bulk but apparently kept him comfortable in the cold, air-conditioned drafts of the place. Eagleburger got on the phone and with exaggerated profanity, and in tones of mock irritation and impatience that were his trademark, summoned Charlie Hill, a foreign service officer who apparently was good at writing things down. The appearance of this hollow-eyed figure in a sawed-off sweatshirt, who had obviously been at it all night, and his sidebar briefing of Eagleburger on what was happening at this moment in Beirut underscored that I had walked into a hands-on operational outfit in the midst of a crisis. The contrast between the peaceful summer day, with tourists strolling outside the State Department, and the tense situation within could not have been more stark.

I could quickly see that the State Department’s operations center was on full alert. Through cables, tickers, television, and telephones—secure and open—State Department officers were maintaining instantaneous contact with a dangerous situation in war-racked Beirut and, at the same time, were engaged in intensive diplomatic efforts to deal with it in Jerusalem, Riyadh, Tunis, Damascus, Paris, New York, and who knew where else. From our ambassador’s residence in Yarzé on a hill overlooking Beirut, Phil Habib, presidential envoy to the Middle East, was conducting negotiations to try to evacuate leaders and fighters of the PLO from the city and, simultaneously, to hold back the Israelis from demolishing this capital of an Arab country with air and artillery bombardment. Such an act could incite political upheaval all across the Middle East and fuel terrorist retaliation that would threaten American lives and America’s interests.

• • •

This was not yet my challenge, however, for I was not yet secretary of state. Until confirmed, I would study, learn, listen, and wait. Al Haig and I talked for two hours that Sunday afternoon. Haig had no gripe with me, nor I with him. Our styles and approaches were different, but our general outlook on many issues was similar. I was surprised, as I looked around during my conversation with Haig, at the unchanged appearance of the secretary of state’s office. It looked just as it had almost six years earlier when I had met there with Henry Kissinger. Large but not impressive, the room was dark and gloomy with the draperies drawn, its colonial furniture somehow out of place in the impersonal Eisenhower modern style of the walnut-paneled room. At the end of this chamber was a small, ancient desk, which I was told had been fashioned from the timbers of Captain Oliver Hazard Perry’s flagship at the Battle of Lake Erie in 1813. I could easily hear We have met the enemy and they are ours! coming from Al Haig, so commanding was his bearing. In fact, this instinct for command had apparently generated many of his problems. He reviewed for me the range of issues worldwide, emphasizing Lebanon, Central America, the Soviet Union, and China.

I had heard and read that Haig’s resignation was the result of clashes with the White House staff over both style and substance. He wanted to run things himself, but others wanted in—including Ronald Reagan. Haig’s bristling manner did not suit the Meese-Baker-Deaver circle, and bureaucratic turf battles were constantly being waged between the White House and the State Department.

This was a different Washington from the one I had experienced a decade earlier as secretary of the treasury. The number of aides that surrounded the president and each of the top appointed officials had ballooned. Staffs of organizations, supposedly following the same administration policy, waged perpetual battle on behalf of—and often without the knowledge of—their principals. And, as I had sensed in the days when Henry Kissinger was national security adviser, a cult of secrecy verging on deception had taken root in the White House and NSC staffs. Beyond that, the secret and spectacular Kissinger trip in July 1971 reopening relations with China cast the NSC adviser in an operational role. When he became secretary of state, he retained for some time the title and role of NSC adviser as well. Henry’s brilliance and skill carried the day, but the potential for conflict between the secretary of state and the NSC adviser was evident.

I had learned a few things over the years about struggles between the White House staff and cabinet officers.² I also knew from my days as Office of Management and Budget director and treasury secretary how easily a White House office can be translated into authority: President Nixon had installed me in a suite of offices on the floor above Henry Kissinger’s to give me a White House perspective to bring to my tasks. Nixon didn’t like budget work or economics much and wanted me to run the details, subject to his policy direction. I retained the confidence of my cabinet colleagues because I did not abuse this power, but I could see then how the White House staff can easily overreach unless cabinet officers and the president refuse to let that happen.

Throughout the next week I operated from my transition office, physically only about twenty yards away from the secretary of state’s suite but operationally far removed from the action. I spent the week performing the Washington rites of passage. Appointed officials of the administration, high and low, came to call on me, to inform and get to know the secretary of state-designate, the third-ranking position in the executive branch. But I went up to Capitol Hill to call on the senators who would be giving their advice and consent on my appointment and with whom I would work in the development and support of our foreign policy.

Over the July Fourth weekend O’Bie and I went to the farm in western Massachusetts that my father had bought some forty years earlier. Deliberately not remodeled or modernized, this simple house has always been a place for me to unwind and get away from it all, to enjoy family and old golfing buddies. My rural neighbors and the Cummington volunteer fire company were amused by my new notoriety and by my retinue of security agents, who were rigging up the farm to an alarm that would go off in the local firehouse should the perimeter be breached. I was resigned to the intrusive nature of their job. From Massachusetts I flew to San Francisco to organize personal and financial matters for my new life in Washington. As I made these moves around the country, I was kept generally abreast of events in Lebanon.

Yasser Arafat, leader of the PLO, was reported to be jubilant about Haig’s resignation, seeing it as giving new life to the PLO presence in Israeli-surrounded Beirut. In contrast to pro-Israel Haig, I was being stereotyped as an Arabist, because Bechtel Corporation had big construction jobs under way in Saudi Arabia and around the Persian Gulf. The shift from Haig to Shultz, others speculated, might undermine the cease-fire by leading Israel to conclude that a negotiated departure of the PLO was now impossible and that an assault to capture the city was the only way to finish off the Palestinian leader.

• • •

At dawn on July 1 the White House had received an urgent, very restricted message from Phil Habib: the United States should insist on an unequivocal pledge from Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin not to invade Beirut and to allow efforts aimed at a political and diplomatic solution to proceed without any deadline whatsoever. If Begin refused, Habib recommended, the United States should stop all military supplies to Israel and support a UN resolution calling for Israel’s total withdrawal from Lebanon and for international sanctions against Israel. Haig differed sharply: take the pressure off the PLO and you founder in your diplomatic effort to get the PLO to leave.

To escape the postresignation curiosity of Washington, as he put it, Haig had taken up residence at the Greenbriar, a grand secluded resort in West Virginia, where he continued to monitor the cable traffic. Notwithstanding the gulf between Habib, Haig, and the White House over the war, Al Haig was still managing the U.S. role in dealing with the Beirut crisis. Haig had resigned, but he remained. Decisions were being taken in which I had no hand but with which I would be compelled to work as soon as I was confirmed. It made no sense for Al Haig to keep trying, between sets of tennis, to run a negotiation in war-stricken Beirut from a telephone in the West Virginia mountains.

As I talked with the president in person and later by phone during the first days of July, I could see that he was increasingly uneasy with Al Haig’s continuing role. I didn’t want to act as though I was already secretary of state, and Al didn’t want to relinquish control. He had particularly strong views about the ongoing situation in Lebanon, and he wanted to give the directions. Not everybody agreed with those views. The president and his advisers wanted Haig to leave now that he had resigned, but somehow nobody was ready to tell him. I talked with President Reagan on July 5 while he was in California. He clearly wanted Al out of the loop. Finally, I volunteered. Well, maybe you’d like me to call him and tell him. The president quickly took me up on the offer. So I called Al and told him that the president felt that it was time for him to turn over the reins.

Well, George, do you think you’re ready? Haig asked.

Al, I said, I’m not going to become acting secretary of state. Walter Stoessel, your deputy, will be the acting secretary until I’m confirmed.

Haig said he wanted to hear the word directly from the president. The president made a further call.

What George told you is true, he confirmed. So Haig did finally leave. But I saw in this episode a little suggestion about how Ronald Reagan, who could be as tough as nails, didn’t like picking up the phone and telling Al Haig, It’s time to go.

• • •

As I worked my way through the first two weeks of July, Beirut kept breaking in. I was now getting briefed on the situation two or three times a day. Phil Habib was raging over the secure telephone that negotiations had been halted because of Israeli shelling and harassment of the Lebanese go-betweens. The cease-fire kept breaking down. As of Tuesday, July 13, the day my Senate confirmation hearings began, all fronts looked bad. The PLO was stalling and complicating the negotiations because no Arab country wanted to take them. The Israelis, seeing Habib’s effort as likely to fail, were threatening to capture Beirut and rout the Palestinians. Yet they were hesitant, realizing that house-to-house fighting in Beirut would cost the lives of many Israeli soldiers. They preferred a negotiated outcome. But the multinational force (MNF) needed as part of the deal to get the PLO out of Beirut was not coming together easily.

Beirut was capturing the headlines, but, far from being an isolated problem, it seemed almost a symbol of a world in disarray. Daniel Southerland wrote in the Christian Science Monitor on July 15: George Shultz faces a world in turmoil, and the world will not wait. Rarely has a new secretary of state had to deal with so many upheavals occurring in so many places around the world. He was right. As I headed for my confirmation hearings, I knew I would face stiff and difficult questions, but they were the least of my problems. The world was in turmoil, and creative engagement from the United States of America was desperately needed.

CHAPTER 2

Confirmation: Prepare and Defend

I remember thinking to myself after completing my final exam for a Ph.D. degree in economics at MIT that it would be my last. From now on, as a faculty member, I’d be giving the exams, not taking them. How wrong could I be? No exam I had taken before compared with the demands and the tension that surrounded my confirmation hearing for the post of secretary of state.

The personal side of my life would be open for inspection, including my finances, prior affiliations, and any potential conflict of interest. Not just individual acts would be in question; everything would be scrutinized—my whole life record: my reputation, my demeanor under pressure, as well as my thoughts, plans, and hopes for the future.

I had been through the confirmation process in the Nixon administration as nominee for secretary of labor in 1969 and again for secretary of the treasury in 1972. I remembered Senator Jacob Javits taking me aside just before my hearings for secretary of labor were to begin. Remember, George, what you don’t say can’t be held against you, he said with a wry smile. I knew a great many of the senators personally, Democrats and Republicans, and they knew me. I figured I was clean as a hound’s tooth, as President Eisenhower used to put it; nevertheless, I had given careful thought to the problems of confirmation. I was a university professor, but also a businessman who had served on the boards of multinational corporations. I was president of Bechtel, a vast enterprise engaged in huge engineering and construction projects all over the world. I knew that many supporters of Israel were concerned that Bechtel’s projects and connections in the Arab world would bias me against Israel. I had no such bias, but I knew that I had to be ready to state my positions clearly and thoughtfully.

So despite what I regarded as a clean and open record, I took an unusual step: I decided to get legal counsel. I wanted to start right out in a way that would build confidence in my unencumbered dedication to the job. I called Lloyd Cutler, one of Washington’s wise men, who had the added advantage of being a Democrat and having served in the Carter White House. He agreed to help, and his counsel was invaluable. I made all the details of my activities and my finances known to him. I decided to make an absolutely clean break, resigning from all my business and organizational responsibilities, putting all my financial holdings in a blind trust, and, of course, disassociating myself completely from Bechtel. Everyone agreed that it was fine for me to be a professor on leave from Stanford University, and the trustees agreed to give me leave for as long as I was secretary of state. I doubt that they foresaw six and a half years.

I set up within the State Department what the lawyers call a recusal process, which would take effect automatically when the Senate voted to confirm my nomination. Under that process everyone would understand that if any matter involving Bechtel came into the department, I would not even know that the issue was under discussion.

When Lloyd Cutler laid out for the White House, State Department, and Senate ethics units all the steps I was taking, they were astonished. On the whole, with his good work and these decisions, potential accusations or concerns about conflicts of interest arising from my business background were defused or put to rest. The process helped build trust and confidence.

My preparation also involved reading mountains of briefing books and listening as waves of experts gave me their views on an incredible range of issues. I submitted to a State Department specialty—the murder board. I would pick a subject—Soviet relations, El Salvador, nuclear nonproliferation, refugee policy, pipeline sanctions—and do my homework. Senior officials would then fire questions, often hostile, at me as they thought senators might. We had a little rock and sock, just to give me a feel for what was to come. A little went a long way. My confirmation hearings, I concluded, would be not so much an exam as an opportunity to reestablish myself, my views, and my presence in high-pressure Washington. I knew I had to project confidence without arrogance, to be my own man while supporting the president, to speak candidly and substantively without presuming expertise where my background was scanty. I had no chip on my shoulder, but the senators must see that I would not be bullied. Once a person can be bullied and turned apologetic, there’s no end of trouble.

Where I had clear views on hot topics, I wanted to set them out candidly and clearly. I wanted the senators to feel that what you see is what you get. If they didn’t like what they saw, they could argue, and if they didn’t like it at all, they could vote against me. But if I was confirmed, there I would be, out in front, having put my views forward. I recognized that plenty of minefields lay ahead, so I should not make my passage through them more difficult by ill-considered or offhand commentary.

The confirmation process would let the American people see and hear and judge me as a person who would be conducting a substantial part of their business, and it would impose on me accountability. If confirmed, I would be on the firing line again and again in hearings and sessions on Capitol Hill, where I would give and get information, and explain and defend our policies on behalf of the president. This accountability, through continuing public interaction with the Congress and the public, critically distinguishes cabinet members from staff members in the White House, the National Security Council (NSC), or elsewhere in the executive branch who have no such requirement or tradition of public accountability.

The Hearings Begin

July 13, 1982: the hearing room was jammed, the atmosphere electric with anticipation of what might come—a circus, an assault, an explosive argument. I sat alone at the center table, arranged so that I looked up at the senators seated around a horseshoe table above me. My wife, two of my children, Margaret and Alex, and Lloyd Cutler sat behind me. Hot, bright lights illuminated the room, with the television cameras whirring away and reporters leaning forward to scrutinize my every facial expression for signs of inner feeling.

A number of senators made positive noises in their opening statements. I decided the natives were friendly. In the years ahead, my knowledge would increase tremendously as I was exposed to the fire hose of information that was pointed at me day after day. But, remarkably, the attitudes and ideas that I expressed at the hearings had a staying power throughout my time as secretary of state. I set out in my prepared statement what were to me bedrock principles. I stressed the importance of economic strength at home, the crucial need for a strong defense to back up a strong diplomacy, and the vital role our allies played as we pursued our objectives of peace, freedom, and stability.

I was impressed, and said so, with the complexity and global nature of economic and strategic developments and the impact of the revolution in communications and information technology on our world. The international economy is no longer managed from a few world capitals but has developed into a global network of mutually dependent partners, I said. Extensive trade in goods and services, the international flow of critical raw materials, the emergence of new technologies, and the revolution in communications have created a world in which no nation is immune from the influence of the international economy.

The problems of our tense relations with the Soviets would, I knew, come up again and again in the hearings, so I set out my views: Diminished American strength and resolve are an open invitation for Soviet expansion into areas of critical interest to the West and provide no incentive for moderation in the Soviet military buildup. Thus it is critical to the overall success of our foreign policy that we persevere in the restoration of our strength; but it is also true that the willingness to negotiate from that strength is a fundamental element of strength itself . . . and as we enter a potentially critical period of transition in Soviet leadership, we must also make it clear that we are prepared to establish mutually beneficial and safer relationships on the basis of reciprocity.

Finally, I discussed my views on the Middle East, especially Lebanon. I had known Beirut when it was a beautiful and thriving city. Now it was being consumed by a devastating conflict between Israel and the Palestinians. I knew from my own experience what a great problem this war posed in other Arab countries. I had visited Israel, first in 1969 and again in 1977. I had former students and many friends there, and I admired and liked the Israelis. I knew Palestinians, too, hardworking, able, and creative people, somehow lost in the tangle of Middle East developments. I ended my prepared statement with a pledge: We must dare to hope that with effort and imagination, we can arrive at an agreement that will satisfy the vital security interests of Israel and the political aspirations of the Palestinians, meet the concerns of other parties directly involved, and win the endorsement of the international community.

Questions and Answers

For two days the senators probed and questioned in purposeful and thoughtful ways. I also took some jabs that caused the temperature to rise a bit. A hot issue was my Bechtel association and a presumed pro-Arab tilt. Very early in the hearings I had a testy exchange with Senator Alan Cranston from my home state of California. Cranston was very close to Jewish groups in the United States and to Israel, and he spoke for many of the reservations about me that were being expressed behind the scenes. Earlier I had called on Cranston to set out my views, and we had a friendly, forthright discussion. I was surprised, under those circumstances, that during the hearing, Senator Cranston took me on, attacked my association with Bechtel, and implied that Bechtel was in some way reprehensible and unprincipled.

The best approach, I decided, was to hit back directly. Hearings are used in part by politicians to score points with the voters back home. So I had to stand up for myself.

MR. SHULTZ. First of all, Senator, let me say that I resent what I regard as a kind of a smear against Bechtel. I think it is a marvelous company, an honorable company, a law-abiding company, a company that does credit to our country here and all over the world. Now, first of all, about your implication—

SENATOR CRANSTON. All right. I said that I have great respect for the company. I have questions about one pursuit of policies by that company at one particular time.

MR. SHULTZ. You inferred that Bechtel continues—that Bechtel violates the law insofar as the Arab boycott is concerned. That is not correct. Bechtel abides by the law. . . . So in your question you said will I part company with Bechtel and not encourage violation of this law, I just reject that. Bechtel abides by that law.

Questions about Bechtel didn’t end there. Cranston and a few others poked away at the Arab boycott of Israel, Bechtel’s lobbying activities, and its work in the nuclear field. Bechtel was easy to defend; it had handled these issues honorably and well. In the end, Senator Paul Tsongas, Democrat from Massachusetts, concluded, The Bechtel issue is basically a non-issue. That captured the prevailing view.

• • •

Senator Charles Mathias described a foreign policy sea that was not only stormy but flecked with some very dangerous chunks of ice, ice floes that could founder us. . . . But the big iceberg, the real iceberg that threatens the navigation of the ship of State continues to be our relationship with the Soviet Union, he said. Never before have two nations commanded such enormous destructive power. We are in a unique position for which there is no precedent in the whole history of mankind, and the management of that relationship will in a very large measure fall to you. . . . No. 1, do you think that is a danger? No. 2, how do we cope with it?

Our relationship with the Soviet Union would go best, I said, if everyone, ourselves, them, our friends around the world, sees that we proceed on the basis of realism about what is going on around the world, and the implications of Soviet behavior and second, that we are clear in our minds and in our actions that we will provide ourselves with the strength that we need to defend our interests, not to be aggressive, but to be able to deter any [Soviet] aggression. . . . I think on the basis of realism and on the basis of strength, part of that strength itself is the self-confidence to undertake negotiations when they are called for. I felt confident that this was President Reagan’s view, but few people at the time would have agreed; the president was under attack for taking unrealistic negotiating positions with the Soviets. Ours is not a strategy of aggression, I said. It is not a strategy of confrontation. It is a strategy of confidence and strength and realism about the nature of their system and what they are trying to do.¹

A refrain heard throughout the hearing concerned the theme of negotiations. When to negotiate? With whom? How to go about it? The Soviets, the PLO, Central America, China, Japan—almost every topic featured this refrain. In a comment all too prophetic of the perpetual battles ahead, I said I was struck whenever I was involved in negotiations that the most important bargaining took place within one’s own negotiating team and that those internal negotiations were the most difficult of all.

The questions put to me ranged the globe, but the most intense concerned the Middle East.

SENATOR BOSCHWITZ. The President has also said that the cornerstone of our effort and our interest in the Middle East is a secure Israel. Do you agree with that as well? . . .

MR. SHULTZ. Yes. But I think that we and everybody else involved weaken Israel when we do not insist and work and strive to bring about a peaceful situation there. We do not do anybody any favor by letting this thing drag on. So I believe that strength is not simply military strength, but what you do with it and what you do with the situation that may be created by it.

It is not military strength that we want; it is peace that we want.

Senator John Glenn of Ohio asked about sending marines to Lebanon as part of a multinational force. I favor the use of U.S. forces if it can be done properly and safely, I responded, in order to resolve the problem we see in Beirut. If we can remove the PLO fighters from Beirut peacefully, get them somewhere else, and avoid an explosion in Beirut, we will have accomplished something very important for the long-run cause of peace, and we will have avoided a tremendous amount of bloodshed. So if we can do that properly and in conjunction with the forces of another country which I think shows that it is not just us, I would favor doing that, yes, sir.

You used the word ‘safely,’ Glenn followed up. I would submit that if it can be done safely, we do not need the Marines. And if it cannot be done safely, then we are going to be attending some funerals over in Arlington with Marines coming back in body bags one of these days. It is one or the other.

Well, we certainly do not want that, I responded. But I do not agree with you. I think that on our streets, if there are some police, it helps safety. It is not a question of saying if things are safe, we do not need the police, and if they are not safe, we cannot use them. I think the presence of people who are capable of maintaining peace contributes to it.²

I had said in my opening statement, The crisis in Lebanon makes painfully and totally clear a central reality of the Middle East: the legitimate needs and problems of the Palestinian people must be addressed and resolved, urgently and in all their dimensions. At the same time, in a region where hostility was endemic and where so much of that hostility was addressed against Israel, its preoccupation with matters of security was essential. No one, I stressed, should question the depth and durability of America’s commitment to the security of Israel or our readiness to assure that Israel had the necessary means to defend itself. We owe it to Israel, I said, in the context of our special relationship to work with her to bring about a comprehensive peace acceptable to all the parties involved, which is the only sure guarantee of true and durable security.

High-sounding talk, and I meant every word of it.

CHAPTER 3

How I Think and How I Got That Way

No one can ever be fully prepared for the job of secretary of state. But as I reflect on my life and experiences, I can see that certain stages of my career have been particularly helpful. As a dean at a major university, I learned to exercise responsibility in a sea of uncertain authority. As an economist, I learned that important results emerge from an unfolding process and that good policy must therefore have a sense of strategy, pace, and timing. As the incumbent in three cabinet posts in the Nixon administration, I had been exposed to the special ways of Washington and to the role of Congress and the press. I had good experiences with able and supportive career public servants. As secretary of the treasury, I developed important friendships with people in many parts of the world and, in my work with them, got a feel for the world economy. As a leader in a large international business, I expanded my sense of variations and similarities in countries and people throughout the world. In short, I brought with me a diverse knowledge of my own country and how it works, as well as how it works with others, from my experiences as a university man, a cabinet official, and a business and financial man. I also had been a resident at times on both coasts and in the Midwest, an arbitrator and mediator in labor disputes, and a worker on the problems of civil rights. My early life, too, was important.

My Early Life

My parents loved me, and I knew it. They made me a part of their life, so I was surrounded by whatever the conversation was when we were all at home. I was born in New York City in midtown Manhattan. When I was two or three years old, we moved across the Hudson River to Englewood, New Jersey, to a house where we lived until I went to college.

I have vivid memories of my mother reading to me as a young child, especially When We Were Very Young by A. A. Milne. I can still quote verses here and there from that book. I am sure this experience has something to do with my love of and respect for books. My parents paid a lot of attention to me, and throughout my childhood I was in a very supportive environment.

I can remember clearly my grade-school teachers, particularly Mr. Metzger, who taught English and history, and Mr. Beaumont, who taught mathematics. They set high standards and had the attitude Good is not good enough. They also made me pay attention. I remember looking out the window one day and having an eraser hit me behind the ear. Good marksmanship by Beaumont.

The academic program was strong, and the teachers were top-notch. I liked school, and I did well. When I was about twelve years old, I decided to start a newspaper with the imaginative title the Weekly News; it came out on Saturdays. I would get up my copy and use a gelatin-based reproduction process. I priced my paper at five cents. The main thing I remember about this endeavor, which didn’t last long, was going around peddling my paper. One day when I arrived at my neighbor’s front door with my latest edition, he walked over to a nearby table and picked up a copy of the Saturday Evening Post, which also cost five cents in those days. He placed the magazine in my hand and said to me, I bought this for five cents. Do you think I should pay the same price for your paper?

I was devastated. But I learned something about the marketplace.

My mother, Margaret, like me was raised as an only child. She was the daughter of a Presbyterian missionary, who with his wife had gone west to establish a church in Shoshone, Idaho, where my mother was born. When she was four years old, both of her parents died. She then moved to New York, where her aunt and uncle brought her up. Her uncle, George Pratt, was an Episcopalian minister. Uncle George and Aunt Margaret were like grandparents to me. We would often go to Uncle George’s church on Sundays, and afterward we would have lunch in their New York apartment. As a small boy, I didn’t particularly enjoy this, but I liked them.

My father, Birl, was one of seven children. He was raised as a Quaker on a farm in Indiana and managed somehow to get a scholarship and by working, waiting on tables and such, put himself through DePauw University. My father loved sports and passed his enthusiasm and competitive instincts on to me. At DePauw he played on the football team. The high point of his football career was the game with Notre Dame. Whenever we listened on the radio to a Notre Dame football game, my father would always remind me that he played against Notre Dame. He never told me the score. After DePauw, my father got another scholarship, to study for a Ph.D. in history at Columbia University. In connection with his dissertation, he wound up writing a book jointly with Charles A. Beard, the famous historian. I think my father always regretted he did not somehow stay in university teaching, because he enjoyed it and enjoyed history.

In the early 1920s my father took a job with the New York Stock Exchange, where he developed an educational program that taught the basic procedures, the nuts and bolts, of how the Stock Exchange worked as well as more advanced subjects relating to security analysis and investment management. In those days, people worked a five-and-a-half-day week, so often on Saturday mornings, particularly in the fall and spring, I would go into work with my father. He would give me things to do around the office, and then we would go out to lunch together. I remember the most wonderful triple-decker sandwiches I ever had in my life at a restaurant called BMT. I would look forward to them all week long.

• • •

I loved playing football, and in the summer before my senior year at Princeton, I was determined to make the first team, so I worked hard. When the early practice time came before school started, I was in great physical shape. I knew I impressed the coaches and had a crack at making the team. Then, in one of those early scrimmages, I got clipped: my left knee was very badly injured, and I was unable to play at all in my senior year. After my injury, I was asked to